Genevieve
by YLJedi
Summary: Genevieve. The story of how Caleb and Ben came to know the prettiest tavern wench Caleb had ever seen.


A/N: Shameless fluff. Shameless schmoop. Shameless – _shameless_ , I tell you – helpings of sweet, innocent Ben.

* * *

The boisterous, bearded fellow is standing over the young soldier. She waits at the top of the stairs, like he asked her to. The young soldier – Tallboy as the sailor man called him with a grin – needs to have his first, real romp in the hay. She's happy to oblige, but she's never seen a friend have to work this hard, or seen a youth quite so oblivious.

Finally, the bearded man glances up the stairs with a twinkle in his eyes. Picking up his own beer glass he upends it on the soldier's beautiful, blue coat.

The soldier jumps to his feet, brushing instinctively and ineffectually at the mess, a curse on his lips as he turns to his friend.

The shorter man laughs but holds up his hands, and guiding the soldier out of the jacket, he begins to lead the young man – Tallboy – to the stairs.

"Come on," the bearded man says, "A friend of mine's bound to have some soap - I can clean this right up."

"Caleb – you're such a – what would possess you to do that?" the soldier is rambling in his indignation as they climb the stairs and reach the landing, and so it takes a while before he realizes that she's standing right in front of him.

A grimace. "No, Caleb."

The bearded man – Caleb – frowns reprovingly at him. "Come on, Benny boy. This is Genevieve. Look at her. I mean, _look_ at her. She's a goddess."

Benny boy doesn't look at her. "No."

Genevieve sidles close and takes his hand. "Oh, I _am_ a goddess," she promises. It's nowhere near what she would normally purr into a man's ear, but she holds back, sensing any more would spook him.

He jerks his hand out of hers anyway and moves away. "No, thank you, miss."

There's not a hint of irony or derision in his voice when he says the last.

"Come on, Ben, have some fun," tbe friend wheedles. "And afterwards, she can help fix your jacket."

Ben just glares at him.

Genevieve won't seduce those who don't want to be seduced, though, and she certainly won't humiliate the young man. She arches an eyebrow at the sailor. "If he doesn't want to, he doesn't want to. Leave the lad alone."

Surprised but grateful eyes meet hers for a moment. "Thank you, miss." He turns back to his friend, his chin lifted in defiance. "Well, you heard the lady."

Caleb sighs, exasperated. "You need to live a little, Ben."

"I'll live when I'm married, thank you very much."

Genevieve can't help it; she snorts. Caleb offers her a grin and a helpless shrug. "He's a reverend's son, what can you do?"

She grins back. Studying the soldier again, her grin turns a little wicked. "When you're married, huh?" She won't humiliate, but teasing? She can do that. "Well, in that case, I accept."

The soldier glances at her, confused. "What?"

"I accept."

The bearded man's grin widens to epic proportions and he lets out a little whoop. Taking each of their arms, he tugs them towards the nearest room. "Well, you two lovebirds settle in, and I'll go find the preacher in this town." Sliding between them he heads for the stairs.

"What? No, that's not what I meant! Caleb!" Ben is all fury as he reaches out to stop the man, but suddenly Caleb is back, the grin gone and he's pushing them both into the room with all his strength.

"Redcoats," he says as soon as he's shut the door.

That stops the soldier's tirade cold. "How many?" he asks instead.

"Too many."

They both – well all three, actually - edge toward the window. The sailor lets out a curse as they see the lobsterbacks marching through the street.

The soldier grimaces and steps away from the window. He looks at his bearded friend. "This is your fault."

Caleb throws him a mock-glare. "Well, if tonight's all you have…" he intones, gesturing suggestively between Genevieve and the bed.

"Shut _up_ ," Ben snaps. He turns back to the window; Genevieve can practically see his mind racing for a way out. "They don't seem to be searching the town; doubt they expect any Continentals to be here. You don't look like a soldier, Caleb. You might be able to just walk out."

"Maybe so, but I can't say the same for you."

Ben shrugs. "I'll leave my jacket here and just walk down in my waistcoat."

Caleb shakes his head. "They'd snatch you up in a moment."

Genevieve finally speaks. "Wait here." She walks toward the door. At Caleb's sound of protest, she turns back. "Trust me," she says, and with a saucy toss of her hair, she departs.

They're at the window, studying the street, when she returns many minutes later. They turn at her entrance and she holds up the filched red jacket triumphantly.

The soldier grimaces in distaste, but obediently puts it on. When she sees the final result, she can't help it; her breath catches.

Ben is looking warily between the two of them. "What?"

Caleb lets out a low whistle. "I hate to say it, Ben, but I think red's your color."

Ben both glares and flushes.

Caleb sobers. A bit. "You'll need to go down with Genevieve." He cuts off Ben's immediate protest. "They can still see your face, Benny boy, and even lobsterbacks might realize you didn't march in with them."

Even the virtuous little soldier can't help but see the logic in that and he acquiesces.

They go down together. Genevieve stays close and in front of him. The redcoats are seated at a myriad of tables, clamoring for drinks and food. She's almost led him to the door when it opens and a flurry of still-more redcoats swarm in.

She turns around quickly but flirtatiously, pulling Ben close and turning him so that his back is to the rest of the redcoats in the tavern. She presses them together.

Ben has obediently raised his arms to mimic a lover's embrace, but they hover a hairsbreadth away, not actually touching. His face is turned towards her, but his eyes are looking past her right ear, his jaw clenched.

Genevieve rests her head on his chest with a sigh. "So you're a reverend's son?" she queries as she lifts her head, finally taking pity on him.

He still doesn't make eye contact. If anything, his eyes shift higher to the ceiling and the blush deepens. "Yes, I am."

"And here _I_ am, protecting you from the enemy." She looks up, trying to meet his eyes. "Does that make me Rahab?" she asks softly.

Startled, his eyes meet hers. She looks into those dark eyes. Those eyes - surprised and suddenly shining at her. His hands finally stop their hovering. Come to rest on her shoulder and back.

And then he leans in and kisses her – fierce, passionate, and oh, so chaste.

He's pulled away before the kiss has even lasted five seconds, and even during that time she had to smother a laugh at the knowledge that it had been her allusion to Scripture that had finally…seduced him.

She wants to laugh even now, but then his hand is gently clasping her own and she quiets.

"Yes," he says.

It takes a moment but she finds her voice. "Good," she says fiercely. "I always liked her."

He smiles. "Me too." He squeezes her hand. "She was so full of strength, courage," he pauses, searching her face, "faith."

She rolls her eyes, and he laughs quietly, but continues. "She's one of Jesus' great-grandmothers, you know."

"You're making that up."

"Look it up," he insists. "Very, very great, but she's in there."

She shakes her head. "A reverend's son," she repeats.

He laughs again. "And proud of it."

The door's clear. She sees it, and tells him so. He squeezes her hand again, thanks her, and then he departs.

Caleb ambles down a few minutes later, but one look and it's clear he'd been watching them.

"He sure warmed up to you." He sidles up to her, a knowing smile on his face. He slips an arm around her. "What was he whispering in your ear, huh?"

She slides her arm around his waist and tilts her head up to meet his gaze. "The Bible," she answers.

It takes him a moment to realize she's not kidding. "That little sh**** " he grumbles, "I'm going to kill him." He slaps his big hat down. "I'm going to kill him." He starts to take off, turns back around, retrieves his hat. "Tried to get him drunk, tried to get him a screw…quoting the Bible, I'm going to kill him."

She laughs as he leaves.

And if that night she hangs a scarlet cord in her window, well, even a tavern wench can dream, can't she?

* * *

A/N: I did warn you.

Inspired by a Black Petticoat Society Skype chat and team-laufeyson's "yeah but what if" pic of Ben as a redcoat on Tumblr (and majorstallmadge also made the comment that Ben looked good in the red, not me). So…this is not my fault.

(Oh, and if you wanted to know, Rahab can be found in: Joshua 2 & 6, Matthew 1, Hebrews 11, and James 2.)


End file.
